I am the spawn of an unused condom
on a bedside table and a brief
disregard for outcome.
I would not call it love. No.
And there it is — I am — convulsed
into some cold gloved hands
and thence pampered, molded
and slow mouldering — kneaded
as dough — risen as a loaf
of will and long odds.
And what greater gift is breath,
to be turned, again and ever
into a wind that fists its way
into my lungs, pierces my tongue,
explodes my spine, that behind,
in the still absent eddy, where
There is nothing, nothing
but prints and the various bits:
regret, dissonance and the sure brine
of having not run that way.
Image: Tim Mossholder on Unsplash
This is fantastic! I love your philosophical approach on the matter of being. Superb! Kudos Devon 🎈
Thank you, Mae. I was feeling a bit salty about “purpose and meaning” if you know what I mean.
I think I do… I am always feeling salty about purpose and meaning! This was beautiful! Love your work as always!
Thanks, Mae. I am still trying to get caught up your stuff. Am quite taken with “Thinks that sound the same” series. And there is so much more to read.
Devon, your work is concisely sharp and cutting- down to the bare bones of the soul.
Thanks much, Lance. I got a little miffed about “purpose, destiny, free will, meaninglessness, etc.” and this just sort of spilled out. LOL.
A very sincere pleasure, Devon. It all worked out quiet nicely!
You’re quite welcome, Devon.